Concrete Angel
by candy4yourEYEZ
Summary: Mattea Williams has to live with an abusive mother and a world that forgets her. But she'll live. Right? AU songfic, PruCan, brother sister America/Canada.


_She walks to school with the lunch she packed_

_Nobody knows what she's holding back_

Mattea Williams trudged down the sidewalk, swinging her brown paper bag slightly. She looked at the people that got to ride the bus, and wished that her mother would pay the fifteen dollar fee to get her a bus pass- like that would happen. Why should this day of being the quiet girl no one was friends with be any different? Mattea shook her head in amazement at her impossible wishes, and kept walking. She didn't see the white haired, red eyed boy watching from a rooftop.

_Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday _

_She hides the bruises with the linen and lace, oh _

Mattea always wore the same clothes -baggy jeans and a Canada sweatshirt she'd found at the Salvation Army-, or variations on them when her mother got a new boyfriend that decided to buy her something to get on her mom's good side. Mattea knew that the only way that appeased her mom was because she didn't have to pay for it, not because it was a present for her daughter.

A bruise on her arm throbs as a reminder of a day ago, when she plucked up the courage to ask her mother for a new pair of glasses, because hers were getting too small for her face. Before slathering concealer on and pulling a sweatshirt over the mark, Mattea had marveled at how it was a perfect purple and blue imprint of a hand. Practice makes perfect, after all.

_The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask _

_It's hard to see the pain behind the mask _

Mattea entered the school, moving along with the groups in the hallways, trying her best not to bump or get bumped. When she got to her locker, she started loading her textbooks into the backpack as well; their school had too many students to have an in class textbook for everyone. After swapping out her battered notebooks for the new, shiny ones that Alfred had gotten her (they'd known each other since they were little, he lived in the house right next to hers. She was almost like his shy, uncool little sister. That didn't mean Al didn't care about her, though.) Mattea zipped the zipper and swung the backpack over her shoulder, wincing as a textbook corner hit another bruise on her back. She'd almost forgotten that was there.

Well, next period was Ms. Braginskaya's class, so she didn't need to worry about hurrying through the hallways. It was right around the corner from Mattea's locker. Mattea walked as slow as ever, slipping in between people talking in the hallways, faintly hoping for a friend of her own to talk to, to really confide in.

"Hello, Mattea," Ms. Braginskaya smiled at the girl, she was always so nice and studious! Although, sometimes, Mattea seemed a little depressed… It was probably teen angst or something. She didn't look sad very often... Maybe it was boy trouble! Yes, that had to be it. But really, she was such a good girl. Her parents were probably very proud of her. Such a good girl… Ms Braginskaya's thoughts drifted off, remembering time spent with her siblings, and her own little sister. Did Mattea have a younger brother? That would explain the bruise on her arm she'd had last Thursday, if she had a violent sibling. Hmm…

Deciding it wasn't her job to meddle in students' affairs, the busty woman went back to grading tests.

The red eyed boy is looking through a window. He can see the bruises.

_Bearing the burden of a secret storm _

_Sometimes she wishes she was never born _

Mattea had gotten home, walking as slow as possible and wondering why some people didn't like school. It was an escape for her, a safe place. Her mother couldn't go to school with her… Mattea shuddered at the thought.

She'd seen the empty gin bottles, more so than usual, in the morning, and knew that her mother's latest boyfriend had left. Maybe she could go over to Alfred's? No, he was going out to a movie with friends this afternoon. Resigning herself to what she knew was coming, Mattea slowly opened the creaky front door and stepped inside, dropping her backpack in a patch of shadow. Shutting the door behind her, Mattea went to the kitchen, hoping that she could find something to eat besides the slice or two of bread she'd had for lunch.

**Slap! **

No such luck.

"Where were you, you little bitch," her mom slurred, raising a fist and punching Mattea in the stomach. The frail blonde leaned against the counters for support, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the hatred on the face of the woman who brought her into the world. "Whore. You only go to school to pick up boys, right?" An open handed slap to Mattea's face, then a sweatshirt being roughly removed so there's no layer of comfort to muffle the hits. "Slut. Bitch. Cunt." Each word is accompanied by another attack, another bruise for the morrow. Mattea uses the refrigerator to support herself, leaning against the countless straight A report cards taped to its dirty white surface as her mom rants and screams and abuses. Tears trickle from behind her closed lids, and she wants, wishes, hopes, prays, that this will end soon. She doesn't know how much more she can take.

The albino is standing outside the window, and tears are running down his face as well.

_Through the wind and the rain _

_she stands hard as a stone _

_In a world that she can't rise above _

_But her dreams give her wings _

_and she flies to a place _

_Where she's loved _

_concrete angel _

Mattea's mother has been like this for years, ever since Mattea's father left. At first, when she was a little child, Mattea thought everyone's parents hit them like hers did. When she first went to Alfred's house, and he knocked a glass of milk over, she waited for the slap, or the punch. How would he deal with it? But, instead, Mrs. Jones just smiled and wiped it up, saying something about not crying over spilled milk. That was when Mattea realized her mom was different. That was when she learned to keep her mouth shut.

As she got older, she learned more tricks to cover up the bruises and scars, using concealer filched a long time ago from her mother's make up bag, or just saying that she was beat up on the street for her lunch money.

She never had lunch money.

But, sometimes, when her mom had gotten tired of inflicting damage on her daughter and went out for the night, or went to sleep, Mattea would sit on the window seat, curl into a ball, and cry silently, letting all her despair out. She'd stare at the stars, waiting until her lids grew heavy, waiting for a shooting star.

She didn't know that Alfred could see her from his own window, the window they used to communicate through when they were little. Mattea had lost that memory after a particularly thorough beating.

It was only in Mattea's dreams that her mother loved her, that her family was back together, and Alfred only spent time with her again.

It was only in Mattea's dreams that her cracked rib didn't protest, that broken toes that were crudely splinted went back to being straight, that her skin was pale and unblemished, that her only other pair of clothes wasn't bloodstained.

It was only in Mattea's dreams that she was happy.

_Somebody cries in the middle of the night _

_The neighbors hear but they turn out the light _

Mattea's mom had left her alone for a few hours, and gone to a club where she might be able to pick up someone that would buy her a new dress, or a nice dinner.

But she came back all too soon.

"Bitch!" She calls cheerily, almost skipping up the stairs, swaying a bit with the influence of alcohol.

Mattea pokes her head out of her room, knowing that hiding only makes it worse.

"Guess what?" She saunters closer, noticing with a grin the way Mattea shrinks back. "I found a new man. But he's only gonna take care of me if I don't have no whore child to weigh me down."

Mattea freezes, then she screams at the top of her lungs, hoping that somebody- anybody- will hear her. But no one does; the neighbors stopped worrying about any noises that came from her house a long time ago.

Her last thought before her mom slams her head against the doorframe and she loses consciousness is that she never got to tell Alfred goodbye.

The albino is watching from a rooftop.

_A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate _

_When morning comes it will be too late _

Alfred saw it all. He was waiting at his window, waiting for Mattea to look over and smile and wave.

What he saw instead would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Mattea was wearing what looked like a tank top and pajama pants; and every visible inch of skin was mottled with bruises and scars.

She's crying.

She flinches, and Alfred hears a faint echo of her mom yelling something.

She gets up slowly, placing a hand on her back where another flower of purple blossoms, and walks to the doorway.

Her mom is saying something, and Mattea cringes. Alfred wants to run over there, to save her, but he's frozen.

She screams, and the sound pierces Alfred's heart. His mouth opens in shock as Mattea's mother grabs Mattea's head and wrenches it to the side, forcing it to collide with the unforgiving wood.

Mattea crumples to the floor, and Alfred runs to get the phone, sobbing to the 911 dispatcher that his sister is dying.

_Through the wind and the rain _

_she stands hard as a stone _

_In a world that she can't rise above _

_But her dreams give her wings _

_and she flies to a place _

_Where she's loved_

_concrete angel _

Mattea is strangely comfortable. She's never felt this good after passing out. She opens her eyes, and is shocked to see a white haired, red eyed boy standing over her.

"Who are you?" Mattea expects a slap in return, or a sneer and a 'why do you care who I am?' She isn't prepared for him grabbing her hand and pulling her into a warm hug, smiling sadly.

"You're going to be fine now. She can't hurt you anymore." Mattea looks around for her mother, but the boy just hugs her closer. "She's not here. She's at your funeral."

Mattea's mouth opens and closes a few times before she wraps her arms around the strange boy and sobs into his black shirt.

"I'm Gilbert. And you're safe here."

Mattea feels loved for one of the first times in her life.

_A statue stands in a shaded place _

_An angel girl with an upturned face _

Alfred is at the funeral. He picked out the monument, after all. Mattea's mother would be too cheap to buy one on her own. It's an angel girl, facing the heavens with arms spread wide open, like she's absorbing the warm rays of sunlight for the first time. Her face has a peaceful smile on it, and Alfred can't help but think of when he last saw Mattea smile like that.

_A name is written on a polished rock _

_A broken heart that the world forgot _

There aren't that many other people. Alfred and his parents, Ms Braginskaya, a homeless Cuban that Mattea had apparently given her lunch to a lot, and Mattea's mom. They couldn't find her dad.

Alfred thinks that her mom shouldn't be there. Mattea's mom should be in a prison cell, rotting away. The fact that an officer is standing next to her, waiting to lead her away when she's done 'saying her goodbyes' means nothing. Mattea's mom said her goodbyes a long time ago.

Mattea's mom suddenly looks frantic, hurling herself at the freshly turned dirt and sobbing, wailing for Mattea to come back to her, she loves her, she needs her, she can't live without her baby.

The officer hauls her up and drags her off, barely paying heed when her cries turn to shouts of rage at Mattea for leaving her alone, for not being able to handle a little hit.

Alfred's parents stare at the pitiable shell of a woman in a sort of fascinated horror, wondering how someone like that was allowed to have a child.

Eventually, they leave too, along with the teacher. Alfred is the only one left, sitting cross legged in front of the gravestone and crying, telling Mattea that he misses her and he should've been there to save her.

_Through the wind and the rain _

_she stands hard as a stone _

_In a world that she can't rise above _

_But her dreams give her wings _

_and she flies to a place _

_Where she's loved_

_concrete angel_

Mattea is standing behind her marker with Gilbert behind her, looking at her own funeral. It's like watching from behind a glass wall, she feels strangely numb. Gilbert's arms are wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head, reminding her that she's safe and her mother can't hurt her anymore.

When everyone leaves, Mattea walks towards Alfred.

"He can't see you," Gilbert remarked, not knowing if it was true, but not wanting Mattea to get hurt again.

"But I can try." Mattea's voice is soft, but Alfred's head snaps up like she was yelling in his ear.

"M-mattie?" He looks straight ahead, a wavering form of his childhood friend appearing before his eyes.

"Alfred…" Mattea materializes completely, her skin now free of any and all marks, wearing a simple white dress.

Alfred doesn't say anything, just stands up and hugs her. Mattea hugs back, thanking a higher power for this last chance.

"Goodbye, Al. I'll be happy where I'm going, you have to be happy here too." She smiles even though her heart is breaking on the inside.

"You'll be watching me, right Mattie?" Alfred's voice is worried and childish, looking for reassurance. "You won't forget about me?"

"I'll always remember you, Al." Mattea stretches up and kisses him on the cheek. "And I'll always be here for you. Just come back here, and I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

"I love you, Mattie." Alfred slowly lets go, and blinks away tears as his concrete angel clasps hands with another, faintly illuminated form, and fades away. "Goodbye."

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

Based off Martina McBride's song Concrete Angel. All lyrics belong to her.

Less than three. Less than three.


End file.
